


Let the Guns drop!

by Verdic



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 12:09:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdic/pseuds/Verdic





	Let the Guns drop!

Holt, and he had to remind himself that his name was Holt, hit the cement floor of the training room with a heavy thump. He could feel the sting on his neck from the training Commissar’s whip. The cord had snapped across his neck and shoulder, swelling and splitting the flesh near his jawline. He could feel his shoulder muscles tightening and stiffening from the severe impact. The bruise to the left half of his face from hitting the concrete was a minor ache in comparison. Quickly, Holt pushed himself back to his feet.

“Scalp! Why did you overcharge your weapon?” The drill instructor bellowed. “Your lasgun is your life.” He walked into Holt’s face. “What is your excuse Scalp?”

“No excuse, sir. I did not overcharge my weapon sir.” Holt replied, his quiet voice slightly slurred from the damage to his cheek. 

“Don’t give me lip!” The drill instructor bellowed again. “That’s ten laps for improper use of your weapon, five for lying about it, and ten more for the lip.” He stepped back. After a moment, he shouted. “Get moving. No one leaves here till Mr. Big Mouth here finishes his laps, and the range drill! Now, get back in line and continue target practice. You too, Wheatie, unless you want to join him?” He opened the invitation to the tall, strew haired woman who looked ready to murder him. Without a word, she put her rifle down and ran to catch up with Holt. “Crazy hick farmers.” The sergeant muttered as the other trainees started shooting again. 

Sabbatine, called Wheatie due to her tall, muscled frame and wheat blond-brown hair, pumped hard as she ran to catch up with Holt. She was nearly half a foot taller than him, but he made up that distance with broader shoulders and thicker thighs. “O…Holt.” She caught herself as she pulled along side him. “Why did you…do that with…your gun?” She asked between breaths.

“I didn’t….stupid gun…too loose.” He replied. Sabbatine nodded. They had been practicing fire drill with their carbines, the light snickt-snickt of their double tap shots ringing up and down the line. Suddenly, a high-pitched whine, followed by a louder and harsher ker-thwak had run out. A bolt twice the brightness of the others sailed down the range and blown up one of the targets. Holt hadn’t toggled the unit into overcharge. It had just happened. The practice weapon the Munitorium had given him had a habit of being too loose in all aspects. 

This wasn’t the first time this had happened to Holt. He had once been lashed ten times by the commissar for the power cell falling out of his weapon, even though he had been firing moments before and hadn’t touched the eject lever. There had been a time where the sergeant had been particularly cruel with the club he carried when the knife on his bayonet lug fell off during a run, after being used for combat practice. Holt had made sure to double-check the attachment before the run. Even the sergeant himself had checked the blade’s attachment. 

But it was more than that. Every little thing he did seemed to draw either the Commissar’s or the sergeant’s ire, if not both. He knew that if any of the other recruits, even Sabbatine, had said what he did, they would be running fifteen laps rather than twenty-five. 

***************************************************************************************************************

The finished the run and the fire drill without any further incidents. As they dragged themselves to the mess tent, the noise around them dimmed. They were told they had to eat with their training group. Holt looked over at the table he was supposed to sit at. There were two seats open, but he knew from experience as soon as he made for the table, the seats would disappear, and he would be left to eat standing. They wouldn’t even let Sabbatine sit, as she would make room for him. Neither of them dared make a fuss about it. This was the Emperor’s Imperial Guard. He didn’t care if you ate sitting down, standing up, or while dancing a jig, so why should the sergeants. As they walked over to the canteen, a lieutenant stepped in front of them. 

“Are you Holt and Sabbatine Erwin?” She asked, eyeing them over.

“Yes, Sir!” Sabbatine replied, pulling herself into a smart salute. Holt followed a moment behind Sabbatine. “Just reporting for some food, sir!” 

The lieutenant looked at both of them, noticing that both of them didn’t seem to share any family resemblance. Clearing her throat, she looked at them. “You two are being transferred out of the 2nd infantry.”

“May we ask why sir?” Sabbatine asked, standing to attention, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. They had been training with the 2nd infantry for a month already, and the only people they had heard of being transferred recently were those who were dropped from the service. While they weren’t stellar soldiers, they were decent enough that they shouldn’t be being discharged.

“As I stated, you are being transferred.” She turned and talked away, clearly expecting them to follow her. Sabbatine and Holt followed her out of the mess and to their tents. “Pack up. You need to be at your new company within the hour. You have a lot of training to catch up on.”

“Which company are we joining?” Holt asked, moving to pack his kit as they had been trained to do.

“Paratroopers. Commander asked for some strong backs to carry large weapons, and your supervising officer volunteered you two.” She watched as Holt and Sabbatine exchanged a glance. However, neither of them said a word of complaint as they packed up and followed the lieutenant to their new squad. 

As they walked in, the other paratroopers in their squad saw a tall woman, whose shaved scalp was growing back in quickly, her straw blond hair already a few inches long. She had the broad muscled shoulders and arms of a farm-hand. She had a wide smile on as she waved to them. Next to her stood a slightly shorter man, his grey-black hair still very short. He had the same physicality, that of a farm boy who had spent more time in the sun and fields than the Scholam. However, his skin was slightly darker in its tan, almost wood shaded, and their facial features didn’t seem to match at all. 

“Sabbatine and...Holt Erwin!” Sabbatine smiled, waving to their new squad. 

“Nice to…” Holt started, smiling at them, as he stepped forwards, he bumped into one of the drill sergeants, causing the hot caffeine he was carrying to splash all over the both of them. The sergeant, his face beet red, turned to Holt.

“Ten laps. Now!” He barked. “And no one save anything for him. Ruined my lunch, I’ll ruin yours.” He grunted, pushing Holt outside of the mess hall with him. Sabbatine grimaced and moved to sit with the rest of the squad. 

“Anyone going to tell if I save a bite or two for him?” She asked, looking paradoxically small in her massive frame as she gave their new squad a sheepish smile.


End file.
